


Knowing What We Know

by KellieWatchesNCIS (Kellie_116)



Series: Secret Unkept [1]
Category: NCIS
Genre: Angst, F/M, Family, Gen, Post-Episode: s16e13 She
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-27
Updated: 2019-04-07
Packaged: 2019-12-25 12:27:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18261284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kellie_116/pseuds/KellieWatchesNCIS
Summary: Bishop, as it turns out, is not so great at keeping secrets.





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bishop spills the beans.

It’s been a long day, and both Tim and Ellie are unusually quiet on the ride back to the yard. Though the recent spring time change means the sun is just beginning to dip below the horizon, the agents find themselves stifling yawns and daydreaming about getting home to bed.

 

“Hey, McGee, thanks for driving me today,” Bishop says softly. She clears her throat; she’s barely spoken since she and Tim hit the road nearly an hour ago, too emotionally drained after the day’s events to make much conversation.

 

“Sure, no problem,” McGee replies absentmindedly. He sneaks a glance at his passenger out of the corner of his eye. “I know you were pretty rattled this morning when we finally heard about Nick. I’m glad you didn’t have to be on the road like that.”

 

Ellie smiles a little vacantly. “I’m just glad he’s safe,” she murmurs.

 

_For the safety of my family . . ._

Ziva’s words have been echoing in her head for weeks now. Having never met Agent David, Bishop has no voice to assign to the warning, so it’s been her own voice whispering whenever the day grew quiet enough for wandering minds. Still, though, as the days keep passing without so much as a hint of news, she finds herself feeling hopelessly lost and in way over her head.

 

 _I need help_ , she realizes. After all, Nick might be fine now, but earlier in the day his future hadn’t been so sure. _What if that had been me? What if something happens to me, and no one ever knows?_

 

“Hey, Tim.” The words tumble out of her mouth before her brain catches up to what she’s about to do. “I – I gotta tell you something.”

 

From the driver’s seat, McGee furrows his brow slightly at the use of his first name and the tone of Bishop’s voice, but his eyes stay fixed on the road. It’s been a stressful day, he figures it’s not too far outside the realm of possibility that Bishop is just having a bit of an emotional moment. (Goodness knows he’s had his share over the years, too.)

 

“Sure, Bish, what’s up?”

  
Bishop swallows hard and fixes her eyes on her teammates face before saying slowly and with as much clarity as she can muster, “Ziva is alive.”

 

There are moments – fleeting moments, few and far between – that remind Bishop just how much time Timothy McGee has spent around Gibbs over the past decade and a half. The way his face stays completely expressionless as he whips the car to the shoulder against a chorus of protesting horns? Definitely one such moment.

 

When the car comes to a stop, McGee very quietly puts it in park, pulls the key from the ignition, unbuckles his seatbelt, and turns ( _slowly, slowly, slowly_ ) towards Bishop. The way his right hand clenches around the key is the only physical manifestation of his emotion as he says softly, “What did you just say?”

 

Bishop opens her mouth and shuts it again, feeling very exposed under McGee’s undivided attention and unrelenting gaze, before finally speaking. “She’s alive. Ziva. She’s – she’s still out there.”

 

McGee blinks slowly. “No,” he finally says. “That’s impossible.”

 

“McGee –”

 

“I _watched her die_ , Ellie!” Tim’s calm façade flies away and the car keys slide through his fingers to the carpet with a tiny jingle that does absolutely nothing to break the rising tension as his voice rises. “I watched her house explode on international television! The director of Mossad brought her daughter to Vance’s office! Hell, Tony moved to Europe! _Ziva. David. Is. Dead._ ”

 

An angry tear runs down his face and he takes a shaky breath. “Look, I’m sorry I yelled, but it took me a long time to – Bishop. What are you doing?”

 

Bishop finishes wrestling her wallet from her back pocket and slides out a small, folded up sheet of white paper. McGee watches closely as she smooths the page out flat on the dashboard.

 

“Bishop?” He’s too busy watching her actions to pay much attention to the paper itself, until she says, “Is this her handwriting?”

 

Between the chaos of the day’s events, the rush of emotions from which he’s just beginning to calm down, and the roar of traffic outside the window, McGee’s not quite firing on all cylinders, so he’s quickly growing very confused by the seemingly disjointed turn of events. “Whose handwriting?”

 

“Ziva’s. Is this Ziva’s handwriting?” Bishop urges, sliding the mystery wallet paper towards McGee. 

 

After a moment’s glance, his eyes widen and he grabs the paper up for a closer look because _yes it is._ “Where did you get this?” he demands without looking up. His eyes race back and forth over the words and he rubs his thumb gently across the page.

 

Bishop tucks her hair behind her ears nervously, keeping a close eye on McGee’s reactions. “During the, uh, Morgan Burke case – the case where we found her office,” she begins, “I went to read Morgan’s mom’s letter to Robert. Gibbs gave me Ziva’s journal, and I went over to the hospital, but when I went to read the letter, the page was torn out. Robert said a woman had already been there and read it to him.”

 

McGee waits anxiously for Bishop to continue, his fingers of one hand still grazing back and forth on the paper while the other hand gripped it tight.

 

“I figured it might’ve had something to do with Ziva. I didn’t want to assume to much, but I went over to her office, and that’s where I found the letter,” Bishop finishes.

 

McGee nods slowly, his eyes distant as he processes what he would’ve said ten minutes ago was completely impossible.

 

“Wait!” He exclaims suddenly, his eyebrows shooting up and his eyes swiveling to Ellie’s. “You didn’t tear the page out of the notebook?”

 

“No, McGee, I just said –”

 

“And you got the notebook from Gibbs?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Was the letter still there when Gibbs got the journal?”

 

“Yeah. He took it from me, and when I had it last, the page was still there.” Bishop frowns, not understanding McGee’s line of questioning. “What is this all about?”

 

McGee’s eyes are wide and bordering on frantic. “Bishop, if the letter was in the journal when you gave it to Gibbs but gone when he gave it back to you, then whoever tore out the page did it while the journal was with Gibbs!”

 

Bishop’s jaw drops. “Gibbs _knows_ ,” she breaths. “Ziva’s alive, and she was in DC, and she was _at Gibbs’ house_!”

 

“Oh my god,” McGee whispers, finally setting Ziva’s note back on the dash and rubbing both hands over his head. After a moment, he turns back to Ellie. “Do you know anything else?” He demands. “Is she okay? What does this mean about keeping her family safe?”

 

Bishop throws up her hands almost defensively. “You know everything I do, McGee. And look, I know she says not to tell anyone, but, I mean, Nick just almost died today, and I couldn’t stop thinking that it could’ve been me, and then no one would’ve known that Ziva’s still out there.” She laughs drily, then adds, “Except Gibbs, apparently. Of course.”

 

“No, no, no, I’m glad you told me,” McGee says quickly. “God, we gotta – I gotta call Tony! Oh my god, Tony. Do you think he knows?”

 

“No!” Bishop exclaims. “I mean, not ‘No, Tony doesn’t know,’ but ‘No, don’t call Tony.’ She told me to keep her secret, and I’ve already told you. The last thing we should do is get more people involved, right?”

 

She looks down to check an incoming text as McGee sighs. “Yeah,” He concedes, though he’s nearly whining in frustration, “But this is her –” He pauses – her _what_? Tony was never her “boyfriend,” at least as far as Tim knows ( _Though I seem to be out of the loop lately_ , he thinks derisively), and “lover” doesn’t really fit either. “Best friend” doesn’t quite  convey the significance of the pair’s bond; Tim’s had best friends, like Abby and even Tony, but those relationships were never anything like the one between David and DiNozzo. “I mean, this is _Tony_ we’re talking about!” He finally says, though he realizes that the meaning is effectively lost on Bishop, who never saw them together or even knew Ziva at all. “This is the _father of her child_ ,” He adds, in the interests of emphasis, detail, and relational accuracy.

 

“He might already know,” Bishop reasons. “For all we know, they’re having dinner together as a family right now. And if she hasn’t told him, it’s because she doesn’t want him to know.” She pauses, taps out a quick response to the text, and turns back to McGee. “Gibbs is asking where we are. You want me to drive the rest of the way?”

 

“Sure. Thanks.” McGee’s voice is hollow as he slips out of the driver’s seat to swap spots with Ellie.

 

It doesn’t take Bishop long to slide behind the wheel and find the keys on the floor, and then they’re back on the road. The quiet is different now, less tired but relieved and more shocked and uncertain. Ellie fiddles with the radio a bit before deciding maybe the silence is best.

 

They’re just turning into the parking lot when McGee says, barely a whisper, “She didn’t tell me.”

 

“Hmm?” Bishop looks over at him. She missed what he said, distracted by her own thoughts about the mysterious life, death, and life of Ziva David.

 

“You said that if she wanted Tony to know she was alive, she’d tell him,” McGee explains, just a little louder, as Bishop searches for an empty space. “She didn’t tell me. She wants me to think she’s dead.”

 

“Tim –” Bishop starts to explain that that wasn’t exactly what she’d meant ( _Wasn’t it, though?_ ) but he cuts her off.

 

“It’s okay, Bishop,” he mutters. “I guess I just don’t understand.” He pauses as if he’s done talking, but apparently changes his mind. “I mean, I was here from the beginning. We were ‘Probie’ McGee and Officer David. I helped her study to become a citizen. I helped her look for her father’s killer. I just – ” He chokes up but swallows back his tears. “Gibbs I understand. But why would he tell you instead of me?”

 

 _A million reasons_ , Bishop thinks. _She’s trying to protect her family – you’re a part of that, but I’m not. I’m safe and neutral._

 

As she shifts the car into park and pulls the keys from the ignition, though, she knows that’s not at all what McGee needs to hear. “I don’t know, Tim,” she says softly. “But if Ziva was here in DC after all this time? I have a feeling we’re going to find out.”

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> McGee goes looking for answers.

"McGee, how the hell did you get here? Have you been driving?" Gibbs is scowling as he guides his senior agent towards the couch (with a bit more force than is strictly necessary.)

Satisfied with McGee's quiet "oof" as he lands haphazardly on the sofa, Gibbs steps back towards the front door for a moment to peek through the window. Sure enough, there's Tim's car, parked crooked on the street with all the skill of a man who's had much too much to drink.

Gibbs glances over at McGee again as he moves through the living room to the kitchen for a glass of water. Tim is sitting near the edge of the couch, head in hands, shoulders shaking silently. Gibbs sighs and hurries through the motions of finding and filling a glass.

"Drink."

McGee looks up, eyes red, to see Gibbs extending a glass of water towards him. He hesitates a moment before taking the glass; keeping his hand still enough to keep from spilling the water is proving to be much more difficult than usual. He takes a small sip, then realizes that Gibbs is waiting expectantly for him to finish the water, so he gulps it down quickly and sets the empty glass on the nearby coffee table.

Gibbs stares hard at his agent for a moment after he sets down the empty glass. He's seen Timothy McGee in all forms over the past fifteen years, but the look he's got going now – face red, beard damp (drinking neatly from the glass had been a real challenge), shirt wrinkled, and expression absolutely devoid of hope – has got to be one of his most pitiful. He's not sure what's going on; he's pretty sure McGee isn't this distraught over the way Torres was framed (it's not like Tim's never seen a teammate accused of murder before), so he is finding himself completely at a loss.

"Ah, Tim," Gibbs sighs. He joins McGee on the couch and sits quietly for a minute before saying softly, "You need to be more careful next time, McGee. Let me know you're here. I could've shot you." He shakes his head to himself as he remembers pointing his gun at his colleague and friend not twenty minutes ago.

"Shouldn'ta been stumblin' around so much," Tim concedes. "Was makin' too much noise." He's back to hanging his head, and between his terrible posture and his slurred speech, Gibbs is really having to work to understand him, but he gets the gist.

"No, you shouldn't've been," Gibbs agrees, then sighs, "But if I'm gonna keep leaving my door open, I can't go for my gun every time somebody wanders in."

McGee giggles roughly at that, and Gibbs rolls his eyes.

"What's going on, Tim?" He asks. McGee shirks back. Gibbs always was one to get straight to the point, and he supposes he should be grateful he's avoided the question for this long. Still, he says nothing.

Gibbs taps him on the arm. "Hey. McGee. What is going on?" Silence. Gibbs sighs, then stands up. "Alright, then, come on," he says, tugging McGee shakily to his feet.

McGee blinks. "Where're we goin', boss?'

"I got work to do downstairs. You can be here, but you're not staying up here by yourself. Next visitor could actually be dangerous, and you're pretty defenseless right now." Gibbs pauses for a moment, then slaps McGee – albeit gently – on the back of the head. "That's for driving drunk," he explains. He steps towards Tim, takes the other man's face between his hands and says very deliberately, "You need a ride somewhere, you call me. You don't get on the road if you've been drinking. You hear me?"

McGee swallows hard and has the decency to look embarrassed. "Yes, boss."

Gibbs nods. "Good. Let's go." He heads back towards the basement, listening carefully to make sure he hears still-drunk McGee clunking along behind him.

When they both finally make it downstairs, Gibbs watches McGee struggle to balance on a sawhorse for several moments before taking pity on him and grabbing him a folding chair from the basement's far corner.

"Thank you, boss," Tim mutters. Gibbs grunts an answer and turns back to sanding his latest boat.

Several minutes pass in relative silence before Tim says, "I'm really drunk, boss."

Gibbs goes still, then turns slowly over his shoulder. "No kidding, McGee," he agrees. "You wanna tell me what's going on?"

McGee swallows and shakes his head vehemently. "Can't. She said not to tell."

Gibbs furrows his brow, sets his tools back on his work desk, and perches on the sawhorse nearest McGee's chair. "Tim," he says, soft but fierce. If someone is screwing with his team, that's not something he's going to take lightly. "Who said not to tell? Are you okay?"

McGee just sniffs – he's quietly crying again – and Gibbs, against everything he stands for, decides to press the issue. "Is it Delilah?" he ventures. "Is  _she_  okay?"

This seems to strike a nerve. "Oh, God, D'lilah," Tim moans, and Gibbs' chest constricts. The last thing the McGees need is more trouble. "She's gonna be so  _mad_ ," Tim continues, oblivious, and Gibbs blinks slowly.

"Because you're drunk?" he guesses. "Delilah's gonna be mad because you're drunk?"

McGee nods violently. "Left her 'lone with the kids to go drinkin'," he laments. "'m the worst husband  _ever_."

In spite of everything, Gibbs laughs out loud. "Believe me, Tim McGee, you're not even the worst husband in this basement."

Gibbs is quiet for another moment, the silence broken only by McGee's sniffling tears. It's McGee who speaks next, looking over at Gibbs for the first time in several minutes. The look in his eyes nearly breaks Gibbs' heart as Tim whispers, "Why wouldn't she tell me, Gibbs?"

He has a sinking feeling he knows where this conversation is going, but he lets Tim keep talking for another moment to be sure.

"She told you, boss, an' she told  _Bish-op_. Why'd she tell Bish'p insteada me?"

Yep, there it is. Gibbs swallows, takes a deep breath, and says, "Hold that thought, Tim." He hurries back up the stairs to lock the front door. It's been a long time since he last locked it, but if there was ever a conversation that called for it, it's this one.

"Alright, McGee," he calls as he heads back down the stairs and crosses the dimly-lit basement. He settles back onto his sawhorse and waits until he has Tim's full attention before he says, "How'd you find out?"


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A few answers mean a whole lot more questions.

McGee is really crying now – shaking violently, tears flying everywhere, on the verge of hyperventilation – and Gibbs seriously needs him to stop.

"Hey, Tim, would ya knock it off?" Gibbs scowls at his own harsh tone, but at least he's sure to get his point across.

McGee draws in a shaky breath and chokes out, "I'll try, boss."

Gibbs nods. Stopping outright would be better, of course, but he can work with trying. "Okay, Tim," he begins. "You hearing me?"

McGee nods, wiping at his damp face with the back of his hand. Gibbs doesn't keep tissues in the basement, so he offers up a mostly clean rag instead, and Tim takes it with a tiny nod of quiet gratitude.

Gibbs leans forward, hands on his knees, just breathing for a long moment before he continues. "Who're we talking about here, McGee?" he asks quietly. Tim, whose tears have mostly subsided, scoffs loudly and starts to argue, but Gibbs cuts him off. "Tim. I need to hear you say it."

His head is throbbing and the glare of the nearby lamp against the basement's relative darkness isn't helping. Still, though, McGee's not so far gone as to fail to grasp the importance of this conversation, so he looks up at Gibbs and says painfully, "Ziva David. Agent Bishop told me – " he takes a deep breath – "That Ziva David is alive, and that she was in DC. And we know you know."

"Yeah. Okay." Gibbs says simply, nodding. He's glad they've got that out there, and its's good to know how McGee found out (apparently Bishop is not as good at keeping secrets as he expected!), but he's not going to push for a big conversation about it, so he stands and turns his attention back to his boat.

From where McGee's sitting, this is absolutely the wrong move. "That's all you got to say, boss?" he demands, voice raising. "'Yeah, okay?' Ziva's out there somewhere – your daughter, my friend, the love of Tony's life – is out there, probably alone, probably in danger, and you're just gonna work on your damn boat? How absolutely typical!"

Gibbs turns back over his shoulder, but before he can open his mouth to defend himself, a figure shrouded in shadow at the top of the stairs says, "McGee, please do not drag the boat into this. I am rather fond of her."

McGee's face goes completely white, and he stands up and turns around so quickly that his little chair clatters loudly to the floor.

"Oh my god," he whispers, suddenly feeling both very sober and very lightheaded. He'd really like to sit down again and get his bearings, but he's unwilling to look away long enough to pick his chair up off the ground. His eyes begin to water again, not with unshed tears but from trying not to blink, afraid that the moment he closes his eyes, this beautiful mirage will disappear.

She's not a mirage, though, and even when McGee finally has to give in and blink (several times; he's managed to very efficiently dry out his eyes), Ziva's still here, almost to the bottom of the stairs.

From behind him, Gibbs is saying something to Ziva, but McGee can't hear anything. He's staring at Ziva, taking her in, trying to burn this moment into his memory forever. She looks different from the last time he saw her, not that that's much surprise. It's been six years, so they all look different, and Ziva also happens to have spent the past six years having secret children and pretending to be dead, both of which he's sure take their toll on the body.

She's filled out a little, her figure softer than it was before. She wears it well, Tim observes ( _and she had a baby!_ He thinks, perhaps a bit self-deprecatingly.  _Not like I have that excuse!_ ) Her hair is longer, too, and from the gently highlighted strands dancing in the light and the slightly darker hue to her skin than he remembers, he'd guess she's been spending a great deal of time outside.  _In Israel?_  He wonders.  _In Paris? Here?_

"You look good, Tim," she says softly as she moves to stand in front of him. She starts to raise her arms as if to hug him, then drops them back to her sides apprehensively, so McGee goes in for the hug, instead, and she melts into his arms.

"I look like hell," he retorts, whispering through her long hair, and Ziva laughs.

After a long moment, she pulls away, but keeps her hand on his. She runs a finger gently over his wedding band. "I heard you and Delilah got married." Her eyes sparkle warmly as she meets his eyes to say, "I am so very happy for you, McGee."

"Thank you, Ziva." Tim smiles and adds, "I wish you and Tony could've been there." He pauses for a moment, a little nervous to ask his next question. Ziva's always intimidated him a bit, and he's struggling a little to find his footing, especially given how little he knows (nothing, really) about Ziva's current situation. She's alive, though, and he's missed her deeply, and he's hoping she still considers him a friend the way he always will her, so he says, "You, uh, you think you'd like to meet Delilah sometime? I mean, if you're gonna be in town for a bit."

Gibbs' soft chuckle behind him startles McGee a little – he'd honestly forgotten the other man was there.

"Soon, Tim," Ziva assures him. "We have a few more things to figure out, but then we will be free, and I would like nothing more than to finally meet the woman lucky enough to put that ring on your finger."

"I'm the lucky one," Tim says with a smile, and Gibbs laughs.

"Damn straight," Gibbs agrees. "Between Delilah and Ziva, I have no idea how you and DiNozzo got so lucky."

Tim's head shoots up at that. He looks from Gibbs to Ziva, back to Gibbs, then back to Ziva again, trying to decide what to ask first. "Is Tony here, boss? In the States?" Without waiting for an answer, he swivels back to Ziva. "Are you two – I mean, have you seen each other? Are you – uh – are you  _together_?"

Gibbs grins as he leans against his work desk. "Tim," he says, "DiNozzo's upstairs."

McGee's eyebrows nearly shoot straight up off his face. "Upstairs? As in, in this house, upstairs?"

It's Ziva who answers, "Yes, McGee. Tony and Tali are still sleeping, but when I got up for a glass of water, I heard you with Gibbs and thought I'd come say hello."

McGee laughs breathlessly, still trying like hell to wrap his mind around so much new and world-changing information all at once. "Hello," he finally breathes out.

Ziva laughs again, and Tim hadn't realized how much he missed seeing her happy. "You know, McGee, I do not think Tony would mind if we woke him up," she suggests.

"Are you – are you sure?" McGee stammers. He's struck with the sudden realization that it is the middle of the night, after all, and it's not like he's even supposed to be here, even supposed to know that Ziva is alive, let alone be laughing with her in Gibbs' basement and waking up her . . . well, waking up Tony.

Ziva nods. "I am sure he would love to see you, Tim," she insists. "He has missed you very much." She squeezes his shoulder and adds quietly, "We both have."

Gibbs sneaks past them and starts heading up the stairs. "Come on," he calls. "I'll put coffee on. I'm sure McGee, at least, could use some."

Tim has all but forgotten the night's drunken escapades, and the reminder has him suddenly very nervous about seeing Tony again. Ziva makes to follow Gibbs up the stairs, and McGee staggers after them, saying, "You, uh, you think I could take a quick shower, boss?"

When they reach the kitchen, Gibbs scowls at his agent. "A shower, McGee? It's the middle of the night. Who're you trying to impress here?'

Tim's face flushes.  _All of you_ , he thinks, though he knows it's a bit late to pull anything over on Gibbs or Ziva. Still, though, if they're going to go to all the trouble of waking up DiNozzo in the middle of the night just to see him, he'd like to try to be at least a little more presentable. The last time he saw Tony in person, he'd looked much better, he thought; he'd been well-rested, well-dressed, and the thinnest he'd been in his whole adult life. He knows he can't fix fat, old, and exhausted in the next half-hour, but he'd like to maybe do something about his dirty hair and the stench of booze.

"I, I just," he stammers. Ziva, God bless her, is giving him a look that says she is genuinely confused, while Gibbs – a man of his word, already pouring the coffee grounds – is rolling his eyes so hard they may very well just stay that way. "I mean, I reek like a brewery, and I –"

"Oh, come on, probilicious, it's not that bad."

McGee is grinning in spite of himself as he spins around to see Tony ( _looking perfect as always, of course_ ) standing in the doorway and smiling broadly.

"Come here, man," DiNozzo says warmly, and McGee finds himself wrapped up in the second-most unexpected hug of the night. Tony pats him hard on the back and asks, "How are you doing, Tim?" Then he grins and adds, "How're the wife and kids?"

"I haven't slept in a year," McGee jokes, and Tony laughs. He may not have done it with twins, but he did do it alone, for a while, and he knows all about sleepless nights.

Ziva comes up beside Tony, her eyes lit up at the mention of the babies. "McGee, do you have any photos of the twins?" She asks. McGee smiles as he notices the way Tony instinctively wraps his arm around Ziva's waist, and though she hadn't answered his question downstairs, it's quickly becoming evident that, yeah, they're  _together_.

He must spend too long a moment noting their affection, though, because he's snapped out of his thoughts when Tony says, "Hey! McGee! You gonna show us those pictures, or are you waiting on me to manhandle Ziva a little first?"

Tim blushes again, even more deeply when Ziva leans closer to Tony and whispers, "Why not both?"

"Pictures, right," he says, perhaps a little more loudly than is strictly necessary, as Tony grins and palms Ziva's ass. McGee is so happy that they're safe and happy – seriously, he is overjoyed for them – but seeing his dear friends quite literally, as Gibbs would say, "playing grab-ass" in the boss's kitchen doorway is making him more than a little uncomfortable.

After a moment, he's pulled up a few recent photos of Johnny and Morgan, mostly candid group shots he's taken of them with Delilah. McGee forgets his embarrassment and is absolutely beaming with pride as the two of them - Ziva, especially – ooh and ah over how beautiful his family is.

"Coffee's on," Gibbs calls from the kitchen. Tim slides his phone back into his pocket as they all head for the table, where Gibbs has already poured four mugs of the brew.

"McGee, as soon as this is all settled and we are able to move freely again, I would like very much to meet Morgan and Johnny," Ziva says - and if McGee didn't know any better, he'd think she sounds almost nervous, as if she expects him to say no - then takes a long sip of coffee.

"Of course!" Tim readily agrees. "Those kids need Aunt Ziva and Uncle Tony in their life." Ziva beams and Tony pats McGee on the back so hard that they both nearly spill their coffee.

"Now that you mention it, though," McGee begins hesitantly. He really, really hates to break up the camaraderie, but he hasn't forgotten all the secrecy surrounding Ziva and DiNozzo's whereabouts, and he still has questions –  _are they safe? What's going on? Where have they been? How can I help?_ Three pairs of eyes look at him expectantly, and he says, "What, uh, what is the 'all this' that needs to be settled? What on earth is going on?"

Apparently it is a question for Ziva, because Gibbs and Tony both look her way as if to defer to her for an explanation. She sets down her coffee cup with a sigh and says, "Let's all sit down. We have a lot to discuss."


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which more people know than we think.

_Ziua sets down her coffee cup with a sigh and says, "Let's all sit down. We have a lot to discuss."_

McGee hurries to the table, but he hasn’t even gotten settled in his chair when he jolts to his feet. “Delilah!” his voice borders on panic. “I gotta call Delilah.”

 

Tony narrows his eyebrows. “You can’t tell her what’s going on, McGee,” he says, almost a warning.

 

Tim shakes his head. For a fleeting moment, he wants to snap something back about how not everything is all about Tony, but he decides to just ignore it. “I gotta tell her where I am. Tell her I’m not passed out in a ditch somewhere. She was – she was pretty upset when I left. I gotta apologize, rule 6 be damned.”

 

“No rule 6 in marriage, McGee. Call your wife,” Gibbs says with a firm nod.

 

Tony knits his eyebrows together, thinking that this previously undisclosed exception to the rule was probably added after a particularly rough night with Diane, Rebecca, or Stephanie.

 

McGee fishes his phone out of his pocket and starts to head to the next room, but stops and turns back to Gibbs, Tony, and Ziva. “I –” he stammers. He knows what he needs to say, but he remembers the look on Tony’s face when he’d insisted that Delilah couldn’t know anything. “I need to tell her. Something, at least. I – she thought –” Remembering the (loud) conversation he and Delilah had right before he slammed the door and ran off to get plastered is making it very difficult not to cry, which is _not_ something he’s interested in doing right now, thank you very much. “She thought she did something wrong. She thought I was mad at her, and I couldn’t say anything, and I stormed out and left her alone with the kids to go to the bar.”

 

“Jesus, Tim,” Tony mutters. Tim ignores him, looking right at Gibbs.

 

“What about rule 4, boss?” He’s shamelessly pleading now. “Second best, tell one person. C’mon, ‘lilah’s DOD. You know she won’t tell anyone.”

 

The look on McGee’s face is shaking Jethro more than he cares to admit, but it isn’t his call to make, so instead he meets Ziva’s gaze for a long moment, trying to make sure she understands that this is her decision.

 

McGee finds himself unable to stop the tears, and he’s not even talking to anyone in particular anymore, just crying and begging to be allowed to be honest with the love of his life. “I’ve kept so many secrets from her,” he slurs. “If I keep this from her, I don’t know what’s going to happen. God, I can’t lose her. I already messed up so bad. She deserves to know what’s going on . . .”

 

As McGee continues rambling ( _a little pathetically,_ DiNozzo thinks, but wouldn’t he do the same for Ziva?), Tony looks to Ziva across the table. Ziva gives the smallest of nods, and Tony reaches out his hand to grab McGee’s arm mid-gesticulation.

 

“Tim.”

 

McGee goes silent and stock-still, his eyes wide and a little wild as he looks down at Tony.

 

“Call your wife. Get her over here.” This is a conversation that needs to happen once, in person, with everybody on the same page.

 

Relief rushes over McGee, then panic sets back in. “‘Get her over here?’” He repeats. “It’s not exactly that easy, Tony. It’s the middle of the night, we have twin infants, and she’s paraplegic!”

 

Tony starts to argue – _What would Delilah say if she heard you doubting her capability like this, Tim?_ \-  but Ziva, having been very quiet since the beginning of McGee’s little freak out, finally speaks.

 

“Excuse me?” she says, looking hard at McGee. “Delilah is _what_?”

 

It’s Tony who answers: “Paraplegic, Z. It means she doesn’t have an-”

 

“I know exactly what it means!” Ziva cuts him off. “I just did not realize Delilah had a disability.”

 

Tony furrows his brows across the table at her. McGee starts pacing back and forth, feeling very uncomfortable with his old friends discussing his wife this way, but knowing that he can’t exactly say anything. Gibbs takes a long drink of his coffee.

 

“Ziva, you remember I told you – ”

 

“No, Tony, you most certainly did _not_ tell me!”

 

“Guys, look, just because Delilah’s –”

 

“Hey! Enough!”

 

At Gibbs’ unexpected outburst, the rest of the room goes silent. Jethro sets his coffee cup down (hard) and scowls at Tony, McGee, and Ziva each in turn. When he feels they have been sufficiently chastised, he looks back to McGee and says calmly, “Call your wife, Tim. Tell her to get over here. She can bring the kids. Any other questions?”

 

“No, boss,” McGee says quietly, then scurries off into the living room to call Delilah.

 

“We should call Bishop, too,” Gibbs says when McGee is out of earshot.

 

Tony scowls. “Why don’t we just get ZNN over here, too, boss? Let everyone in on all our secrets all at the same time. It’ll be more efficient that way, right?”

 

Unfortunately for Tony, sitting perpendicular from Gibbs at the small kitchen table puts the back of his head well within slapping range. His only saving grace is that he’s not holding his coffee at the moment of impact.

 

Apparently writing Tony off as tired, cranky, and incapable of rational adult conversation at the moment, Gibbs turns to Ziva. “We need to call Bishop,” he reiterates. “You two can meet, we can tell her off for telling McGee, and we can get everybody on the same page.”

 

Ziva nods; it makes sense to her. _No reason to explain it more than once if we can help it._ She pauses a moment, then says, “That’s everyone who knows, right? You, Bishop, and the McGees?”

 

It isn’t exactly the right time for paternal sentimentality, but Gibbs can’t help the warm feeling that spreads through his chest every time he hears Tim and Delilah referred to as “the McGees.” He shakes away the brief moment of pride and tries to remember what Ziva asked. _Who all knows. Right._

 

Gibbs has the decency to look embarrassed – much to the surprise of both Ziva and Tony, who didn’t fully realize Jethro was capable of such an emotion – as he locks his eyes on the table, runs a hand through the side of his hair and confesses, “I may have let slip to someone else.”

 

“Come on, boss!” Tony scowls. Ziva rolls her eyes at his outburst, though she is not feeling particularly grateful for Gibbs’ loose lips, either. “I mean, it obviously wasn’t me or Z, and Tim heard from Bishop, so who on earth would you have –” Tony suddenly cuts himself off with a loud and dramatic sigh of realization. “Fornell, right?”

 

Gibbs breathes out hard. “Yeah, Tobias knows,” he admits.

 

Tony sighs again, and Ziva is beginning to wonder how much more of this drama his lungs can reasonably take. “Okay,” he says, transitioning from frustrated-and-protective-boyfriend to efficient-and-productive-former-agent. “Ziva, you call Bishop. You have her number, right?” Ziva nods, and Tony turns to Gibbs. “Chatterbox, you call Fornell,” he instructs, and Gibbs very nearly smiles. _Only DiNozzo_ , he thinks.

 

As Gibbs and Ziva reach for their phones, Tony pushes back from the table. “I’m going to go check on Tali. Regroup in twenty?” He asks, trying to remember where Fornell, Bishop, and the McGees live and thinking this should give them all just enough time to get here. When he receives two nods in response, he heads towards the stairs.

 

 _Here we go_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you are enjoying the story so far! It's been a long time since I wrote anything more than a one-shot, and a long time since I wrote anything for NCIS, so I hope I'm at least coming close to doing it justice. Just a heads-up: the next chapter will be a little different; instead of following the plot strictly chronologically, we're going to jump back a couple of minutes and follow Tim to the living room for his phone call with Delilah. Depending on how long that is, Gibbs' call to Tobias and Ziva's call to Bishop will either be additional sections of the next chapter or their own subsequent chapters. Have a lovely day!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim calls his wife.

" _Call your wife, Tim. Tell her to get over here. She can bring the kids. Any other questions?"_

" _No, boss," McGee says quietly, then scurries off into the living room to call Delilah._

Before he opens the actual phone function of his phone, Tim spends a long moment staring at his lock screen. It's a picture from the day Johnny and Morgan were born; Delilah is dead asleep in her hospital bed with Johnny in her arms, and Tim is snoozing in the chair next to her holding Morgan. McGee's not a hundred percent sure how he got the photo, but he thinks maybe Palmer sent it to him. Regardless, he's glad to have it. It's one of his favorite pictures, a grounding force when everything feels out of control. No matter what happens, no matter how many times he finds the answer a second too late, no matter how many times Gibbs' palm makes contact with the back of his head, he has his family. He has the life that he and Delilah built together from the ground up, and he will fight like hell to protect it - he's already had to, these past few years, and no way in hell is he giving up now.

Still, though, calling his wife in the middle of the night to let her know that he's sorry, that he's safe, and that the woman everyone's thought was dead for the past five years or so is alive and well and having coffee in his boss's kitchen, and yes he  _has_  already known for several days, thank you for asking, is not a contingency he ever exactly planned on, and his fingers are shaking as he pulls up Delilah's contact and presses call.

"Tim?" she answers after about half a ring, and she doesn't sound sleepy at all. McGee's stomach drops. She's awake, not just "up for a second to check on the kids" awake but  _awake_  awake. She's "waiting up all night for my stupid husband to come home awake."

"Hey, Delilah," he says softly, carefully. Met with silence, he keeps talking. "How are you?"  _God, what a dumb thing to ask. Why would I ask that?_

There's a long pause that has Tim wondering if something's wrong with the connection - it would not surprise him in the least to learn that Gibbs' house had terrible cell reception - before Delilah finally responds. "I'm okay. Glad to hear from you. Good to know you're alive."

McGee cringes hard at that, because they've both had more than enough brushes with death. He knows she already has to worry about his safety every day when he goes to work - it's in the back of his mind every time Gibbs says "Grab your gear," the knowledge that he might not go home in one piece; the guilt that he feels over risking leaving Delilah alone, despite the fact that she insists every time he brings it up that he loves his job and she won't be the reason he gives it up. The last thing he should be doing is making her worry about his well-being off the clock, too.

"Delilah, I am so sorry," he murmurs. Tim's never been one to be at a loss for words; he's written to bestselling novels, for goodness sake. Now, though, trying to find a way to appropriately express to the love of his life that he wishes he had a time machine to go back and choose not to be a moron and an asshole because she's the most amazing person he's ever met and she deserves better from the person who promised to love and support her for the rest of his life is proving to be difficult.

"I fucked up," he adds. His head is pounding again and his tongue feels too big for his mouth, though it's really anyone's guess whether that's because of the alcohol or the guilt.

On the other end of the line, Delilah nods, though she knows he can't see her. Tim rarely uses that sort of language, but he's right. "Yeah, you did," she agrees. Anger and hurt are boiling very near the surface, but she's careful to keep her voice calm and matter-of-fact. Yelling never helps anything, and besides, she's got her phone in one hand and her daughter in the other.

"Listen, Delilah," Tim sighs, "I'm really sorry, and I promise everything'll get explained as soon as possible, but I really need you to get over to Gibbs' place."

Delilah raises her eyebrows, positively incredulous. "Excuse me? Now?"

"Yeah. I'm sorry, 'lilah."

She bites her lip, quiet for a moment. "You know it's the middle of the night, right?" she asks, more for emphasis than actual clarification. Tim murmurs his assent, and she continues, "So you're telling me that you stormed out of here to go to  _Gibbs'_ house?"

McGee is silent for a long moment, and Delilah doesn't know whether it's because she's right or because she's wrong until he finally confesses, "There may have been a few stops in between."

A hot, angry tear spills onto Delilah's face, and she can no longer keep her voice from shaking. "You went drinking again, Timothy?"

"I'm so sorry," McGee whispers. Behind him, Tony breezes through on his way towards the stairs, and Tim guesses he's headed to check on Tali. He just hopes he hasn't heard any of his conversation with Delilah.

There's silence followed by a few muffled noises on Tim's end as Delilah uses the back of her phone-holding hand to wipe her face dry. "Okay," she says after a moment. "You need me there? What am I supposed to do about Morgan and Johnny?"

McGee's chest constricts. She's back to matter-of-fact problem solving, so he knows this conversation is most definitely not over, and he's not looking forward at all to hashing this all out again later. Still, though, Gibbs, Tony, and Ziva are waiting on them, so he follows Delilah's lead and focuses again on the most immediate next steps. "Gibbs says bring 'em," he explains.

Delilah's eyebrows raise a little against her will. Despite the fact that, with her modified hand-controlled car, she is more than capable of getting herself and her children safely into the car and wherever they need to be, Tim tends to be overprotective, always worrying that one or more of them is going to get hurt, and he almost never asks her to travel with them alone. For him to be calling in the middle of the night to ask her to bring the twins and come over, something seriously serious has to be going on.

She's only been to Agent Gibbs' house briefly, and only a time or two, but she knows the area pretty well, and it's not too far at all from her and Tim's apartment. "Give us twenty minutes," she finally says. She's hoping he'll take the hint and go ahead and get off the phone, because holding both Morgan and the phone means she's out of free hands, and being out of free hands means she's pretty much stuck in one spot.

"Be careful," Tim urges, and though she appreciates the sentiment - really, she does - she rolls her eyes.  _It's not like I'm crossing the Sahara or, I don't know, driving drunk, unlike some people I know_.

"I will, Timothy," she assures him anyway.

"I love you," he says firmly.

"I love you, too. See you soon."


	6. Chapter 6

Ellie jerks awake to the ringing of her cell phone, a phenomenon with which she’s grown far too familiar for her liking since joining Gibbs’ team.  _ Must be a case _ , she thinks groggily, the fact that the ringtone is neither Gibbs’ nor Nick’s nor McGee’s not quite registering. 

 

“Bishop.” 

 

Ziva takes a deep breath, then says, “Ellie?” 

 

The unfamiliar voice and Middle Eastern accent effectively shake Bishop awake. She’s fairly certain she knows who her early morning caller is, but she still says, “This is she. With whom I speaking?” 

 

“Agent Bishop, this is Ziva David.” In spite of everything, Ziva’s fighting off a grin, because after years of hiding and secrecy, introducing herself by her real name is more exhilarating than it really has any business being. 

 

“Ag - Zi - uh, Ms. David,” Ellie stammers, because she’s learned many things in her years as an analyst and an agent, but the proper form of address for one’s  _ investigative predecessor slash ex-coworker’s lover who’s secretly back from the dead _ isn’t one of them. 

 

“Please, call me Ziva.” 

 

Bishop feels her shoulders relaxing (even as her adrenaline level stays sky-high) and she responds in kind, “Call me Ellie.” 

 

“Ellie,” Ziva repeats, and Bishop marvels at her calm, even tone as her own heart pounds against her ribs. “I hate to be too forward, but you are needed at Gibbs’ house as soon as possible.” 

 

“I’ll be right there,” Ellie assures her, balancing her phone between her ear and her shoulder as she slides back on yesterday’s jeans. 

 

“Drive safe,” Ziva implores, and the line clicks dead. 

  
  


“Wha’ d’you want?” Fornell’s grumpy voice, heavy with sleep and irritation, drags through the phone. 

 

“T’bias,” Jethro grunts, “We gotta talk. Put some pants on and get over here.” 

 

Fornell groans unintelligibly for a moment before ending the call. 

 

“That was quick,” McGee observes, having slinked back to the table while Gibbs was waiting (and waiting!) for Fornell to pick up. 

 

Gibbs shrugs. “He’s on his way,” he says simply. 

  
  
  


“She’s still sleeping just fine,” Tony says quietly to Ziva as he pads back into the kitchen. Ziva visibly sighs in relief. 

McGee is puzzled by this exchange for a moment; Tali must be five or six by now, so he’s pretty sure she should have long since been sleeping through the night - like, since before Tony even met her. He feels like slapping the back of his own head when it occurs to him that if he were to suddenly be forcibly uprooted from his home and forced to live in a strange place with a slightly grumpy old man he’d never met, he might have trouble sleeping, too. (He tries not to think about the fact that, given her mother’s been pretending to be dead for the past few years, and most people pretend to be dead for a reason, moving from - well, from wherever it is she’s been living - to Gibbs’ house might actually be the least of Tali’s problems, or even a welcome change.) 

 

Tony comes up behind Ziva and starts softly massaging her shoulders. Gibbs is busy moving kitchen chairs into the living room so that everyone has somewhere to sit when Fornell, Bishop, and Delilah arrive, while McGee stands by the counter drinking what he thinks is only his third cup of coffee, though it could very well be his fourth. As Ziva’s head falls gently backwards and Tony whispers goodness-knows-what into her ear, Tim turns towards the wall and tries to busy himself with rearranging Gibbs’ kitchen tools to avoid the uncomfortable feeling that he is intruding on a very personal moment (never mind the fact that he was already here when Tony walked in.) 

 

When he finishes his coffee and goes to deposit his empty mug in the sink ( _ Three-maybe-four cups of coffee is probably enough for now. Probably. _ ), Tony and Ziva are leaning gently against the wall, totally caught up in their own little world, and Tim takes a moment to really look at them. They look very, very tired, he notes, and very in love, like two people who’ve spent years holding onto each other as hard as they can because if they let go everything might fall apart. 

  
  
  


Though it’s only been a few years since his last face-to-face with Tony (and they’ve video chatted plenty in the meantime), he seems to have aged faster than time since last McGee saw him. He has dark circles under his eyes and wrinkles he’s never seemed to have before, and the roots of his hair are going gray. What really shows the passage of time, though, is the blatant domesticity between Tony and Ziva. Tony’s wearing a dark pair of sweatpants, what look like very warm socks, and an old NCIS tee shirt; though he hadn’t noticed down in the basement, Tim notes with a soft smile that Ziva’s got on leggings and a well-worn Ohio State tee-shirt that he’s positive she didn’t pick up at some market in Tel Aviv or Paris. She’s laughing quietly as Tony braids a small section of her hair, and Tim feels a deep pang in his heart. 

 

He remembers that day on the bench, talking to Tony while Tali watched quietly from her stroller.  _ “Were you two an item the whole time?”  _ he’d asked. Though Tony’s evasive answer had confirmed what he’d suspected (not really, but they’d always been almost there), the deja vu is hitting him hard and he’s pretty sure the answer’s different this time: the whole time Tony’s been gone, or certainly close to it, he and Ziva have been together. Every time he and Tony Facetimed, or texted, or talked on the phone, Ziva’s been in the other room, cooing over Tali and waiting for Tony’s update on the life and times of Tim McGee. After his impromptu wedding, when he and Delilah made that (admittedly somewhat tipsy) video call to tell Tony that they were married and expecting, when Tony had nearly cried and told them how he couldn’t wait to meet their new addition, Ziva was just offscreen, listening and observing but never letting him know she was there, never letting him know that she was alive, that she was with the ones she loved. 

 

None of this is about him, and he  _ knows _ none of this is about him, but hot tears still sting at his eyes.  _ She didn’t tell me. She wanted me to think she was dead.  _

 

Gibbs comes back through the door to grab another chair, and anger twists itself up with Tim’s hurt.  _ How long has he known? Has he been in on it this whole time? How long have they kept this from me? _ It’s been years and years and years, but suddenly he feels like a probie all over again, trying to prove himself to be good enough for Gibbs’ team and somehow always falling short. 

 

“Tim,” Gibbs’ quiet but unwavering voice, much closer than he’d thought Gibbs was, startles McGee out of his thoughts. “C’mon, grab a chair.” 

 

Obediently, McGee picks up the last chair still at the table and follows Gibbs into the living room. “You okay?” Gibbs asks softly, a hand on his agent’s shoulder, after they set the chairs down opposite the sofa. 

 

For a long moment, Tim says nothing. What can he say?  _ I’m not okay at all. I was already struggling to balance the job with my family, and my wife is mad at me, and I might have a drinking problem, and now it turns out the three people besides Delilah that I trust and respect most in the world have been keeping a massive secret from me for who knows how long _ . 

 

“I have a headache,” he finally says. 

 

“McGee,” Gibbs warns, because apparently he actually wants to know the answer.  _ That’s different _ , Tim thinks a little derisively. 

 

He closes his eyes for a long moment, breathing out slowly. “I’m not doing too great, boss,” he finally admits. Gibbs just nods, which rubs him a little the wrong way.  _ If he already knows, why is he asking? _

 

“No one’s trying to hide anything from you,” Gibbs says, one eyebrow raised, and though he knows better, McGee scoffs. Rather loudly. 

 

“Sure, boss,” he snaps, and Gibbs’ other eyebrow leaps up. Tim tries his best to keep his voice down; he may be hurt and even a little angry, but he’s not sure he wants Tony and Ziva to know that. In a loud-ish sort of whisper, then, he says, “Ziva’s been alive this whole time, off with Tony, probably living in familial bliss or what-the-hell-ever, and he couldn’t be bothered to mention it to me. Every time I’ve talked to him the past three years, he’s been lying through his teeth. And what about you, Jethro? Have you been in on this since the start, too?” 

 

“They’ve been fighting for their lives, McGee,” Gibbs barks. “You need to calm down  _ right now. _ ” 

 

Something in McGee breaks, and he can’t pretend that anger outweighs hurt anymore. “I just don’t understand,” he whispers, voice cracking. “Why was I not go-”

 

A familiar car engine spins off outside, and Tim chokes on his own words and frantically dries his tears with his hands as best he can, because apparently Gibbs doesn’t keep tissues anywhere in this freaking house.

 

“That’s Delilah,” he chokes out, and Gibbs nods. “Get it together, Tim,” he says. “You need to cry later, you cry. Right now, you need to help your wife, you need to listen to Ziva’s story, and you need to  _ trust me _ . Got it?” 

 

McGee swallows hard. “Got it, boss.” 

  
  



End file.
